


Is It Worth It Yet

by sleepymccoy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst to Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, az goes real hard on the making sure crowley is ok thing, crowley does that error 404 not found thing, crowley is busy 404ing but he loves one angel, he also trial runs a conversation with a mop, plenty of making out at the end, stuff gets much more flirty and easier for them in like chaps 3 and 4 tho, then has said conversation w aziraphale and it is not a grade communication but its not bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 21:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20731187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepymccoy/pseuds/sleepymccoy
Summary: Around abouts the 1000AD mark, in what would become Turkey a few hundred years later, Crowley sat down, took a breath, and told Aziraphale how he feel in a total trainwreck of a conversation. Chapter 1, that conversation.Of course, Aziraphale would then expect Crowley to bring it all up again after the apocalypse, and when he doesn't he decides to take matters into his own hands and broach the topic himself. It doesn't go as well as he'd hoped. Good ending tho, don't worry guys





	1. Alone

The night had quietened between them. Things were pleasant, but oddly strained. Not oddly, Crowley corrected his thoughts, they were appropriately strained. 

Crowley had been sent here for a fiddly little temptation that promised a domino effect of lust, sloth, and greed if he got it right. He had been given the relatively simple job of convincing the Emperor's favourite courtesan of his own deep and true love for her, and had been doing quite well. He'd come to her tormented with love and at her beck and call and, of course, she'd believed it. A few follow ups and she would stop pleasing the Emperor and who knew what would follow. Well, Hell knew, but Crowley didn't really mind. 

He didn't like this assignment, the result was sin and evil, but his actions didn't feel particularly corrupt. Or particularly difficult, until today. He'd laid with his head in a beautiful woman's lap for the last few days and had spouted tales of adoration. Her light hair and eyes had made the job easier, he'd barely had to tailor his language to fit her. He'd just lain there with his eyes shut, thought of a blonde angel, and changed the pronouns. And he’d omitted the stuff about wings.    
  
He was in love, after all, so it was easy to fake it with someone else. 

Of course, Aziraphale’s arrival had muddied everything awfully and he'd found it far too difficult to continue to woo her knowing that Aziraphale stood on the other side of the heavy curtain, able to hear his words. 

Aziraphale had disagreed strongly with Crowley's mission, and even more strongly with his method. He’d said a few unintentionally cruel things about Crowley’s lies and deceit. Talking about cheapening love. Like Crowley didn’t love anyone. Like Crowley couldn’t love anyone. Crowley had found himself more defensive than usual and things had gotten out of hand. 

Of course, the disagreement had faded before far too long, they'd had an unpleasant afternoon of shouting at each other then Crowley had given in and agreed to take a different approach. He'd been relieved to agree, honestly, although he had had to put up the pretense. Waxing poetic about the angel was much easier when he wasn't listening. He’d come up with something else that would tear this courtesan from her Emperor.

Aziraphale had been relieved when he'd given in. So much so as to insist on spending the evening with Crowley. And, like a fool, Crowley had acquiesced. His thoughts hadn't wandered all evening and as the night grew darker he found his commitment to staying quiet crumbling as unfortunately his commitment to discussing love strengthened. Dangerous mix. 

If he hadn't known better he'd've thought Aziraphale was intentionally manipulating him into speaking his bit, he stepped so perfectly to encourage Crowley. Miracling extra wine. Frowning in amusement at his jokes. Agreeing without saying it with his blasphemies. Making small, quietly hysterical comments and observations about this land that would become Turkey in a few hundred years. And he remained here now, well beyond their usual, like he knew if he left Crowley too quickly he may change his mind, may never so much as hint again. Crowley had been hinting all night, it was starting to get obvious.

Crowley was likely projecting, but the small smile Aziraphale kept giving him seemed knowing and it grated on his nerves and poked holes in his arguments against. Besides, he was miserable right now and felt like sowing some seeds of self destruction. 

Might as well make it actually obvious.

Aziraphale poured himself a glass then held the bottle out to Crowley with a grin. Crowley took it and put it on the table without pouring himself a share. 

"I should be off," Aziraphale murmured, looking out the window at the large moon beyond. He didn’t move to leave but Crowley surged with panic, he should have spoken hours ago. He had said it so many times today, he could say it again, to the right person. The time felt more right than wrong, and that was so rare for them. 

“How much did you hear of what I was saying to her?” Crowley asked. It was for you, it was for you.

Aziraphale’s ears went red. He faced Crowley and frowned in a light admonishment. “I heard enough, dear, it was-” he paused and sipped his wine. Crowley let him choose his words “Well,” Aziraphale hesitated. “It was shameless, really. Poetic, though.” He had some more wine, avoiding meeting Crowley’s eyes. “I was rather impressed, despite myself. Although I take nothing back from what I said this afternoon!”

“Did you know before today?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale looked at him blankly, not understanding and Crowley realised he hadn’t said it to him yet. He’d just thought it. 

Crowley took a breath and dived. “Do you know how I feel for you?” Crowley asked quietly. He silently congratulated himself, then took a serious swig of wine, finish off his glass. 

Aziraphale stilled in his seat. Not that he’d been fidgeting before, but his incidental movements, the slight swirling of the wine in his glass, it all froze. Even his hair began to ignore the breeze from the window.

Crowley nodded, staring at him closely, leaning across the table to watch his reaction. If he didn’t know, Crowley would stop, build it slower. But he knew, he had to by now. Crowley's fingers played lightly along the top of the wine bottle. “You do, don’t you?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale sniffed and politely drank some more of his wine. “You’re talking nonsense,” he said formally. He glanced at Crowley. Crowley looked back, the angels eyes were wide, his pupils dilated, and he held the glance for longer than usual, but he looked away eventually. Absolutely, Crowley thought, it was absolutely time. He'd waited. Five thousand years. His angel could meet him now. And if he couldn't, Crowley needed to know. 

“I always do what you ask, Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered. The street outside was silent at this hour, letting Crowley be easily heard in the room. Aziraphale ignored him. “You want me to be silent?” Crowley continued to prod.

Aziraphale drank his wine again, now studiously avoiding looking at the desperate demon. He looked out the open window, for guidance or a reprieve, Crowley couldn’t know which. 

“Ask me,” Crowley croaked. “Tell me not to tell you how I crave for y- ”

“This is inappropriate, do not,” Aziraphale snapped at him, speaking loudly, at his common volume. He refused to meet Crowley in the intimacy of a whisper.

Crowley sat back, leaning against the wall behind his cushioned stool. He stared at the angel, totally unblinking. He held his glass at an extreme angle, all but forgotten. The small amount of liquid left in the glass was kind and didn’t threaten to fall. He felt very calm, in this eye of a storm. Behind him was not knowing, ahead he would know. The path ahead would likely hurt just as much as the life behind, he didn’t expect to be reciprocated, but right now? Right now it was calm. 

“I’m going to disobey you tonight,” Crowley murmured.

Aziraphale looked at him at last. “Do not,” Aziraphale sighed.

Crowley smiled. “I think about you every moment you’re gone,” he said, his voice fogged and struggling through his tight chest. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The last few drops of wine fell from the glass, but he paid it no heed. “You consume me,’ Crowley said seriously.

Aziraphale put his glass down and shifted in his seat seriously. “Crowley, I must insist-”

“No,” Crowley interrupted, his voice too quiet to even be called a whisper but cutting through Aziraphale’s objection nonetheless. “Tonight you'll hear me.”

Aziraphale’s lip quivered for a second, then decidedly did not again. He stared down at his lap, not responding, his eyes wide enough that Crowley could glimpse their blue colour despite his averted gaze.

“I love you,’ Crowley said surely. One of Aziraphale’s hands gave a small twitch of surprise.

“Now, cut that out,” Aziraphale said quietly, sadly, his voice lacking all the confident authority of before.

“I want you,” Crowley continued. “Mind, body, and soul. Every bit of you. You’re decadent.” He ended the sentence in a hiss, watching Aziraphale closely.

Aziraphale spread his hands, gripping his knees uncomfortably. He took a breath, then stood, flattening his tunic with aplomb. “I don't know what's gotten into you but I'm sure it will pass-” he began to say formally.

“Look at me,” Crowley insisted, his hiss keeping up.

Aziraphale did so without hesitation. His eyes were wet and his expression stricken, but his shoulders were set with determination. He glared at Crowley.

“You’re going to leave me here?” Crowley asked. He smiled despite himself, it felt wrong on his face and sick in his heart but he smiled. It was going to hurt, this conversation, but he was ready for it. “You’re leaving me like thiss? In love and alone?”

Aziraphale shook his head, but glanced at the door. “You really can’t talk to me like this, Crowley,” he said quietly, his tone almost a plea.

Crowley shivered. “Say my name again,” he requested.

Aziraphale’s eyes flashed with fury. “No,” he snarled. He looked at the door again, and again did not move to it.

Crowley cringed. He didn’t want Aziraphale to leave yet, not for a bit, let this conversation close more softly, not with the slam of a door but with a muttered promise to see him again. Please. 

Perhaps he’d overestimated the mercy of angels, he’d done so once before. Only fools make the same mistake twice, and Crowley was a fool indeed. 

Aziraphale could love him, Crowley knew he could have that. He could mold himself into whatever shape he desired, and he desired to be what Aziraphale would have. “What do you want?” He asked.

Aziraphale’s expression moved from his short moment of anger to regret, then on to confusion. “What?”

“You don't want me,” Crowley pointed out. “Because I’m a demon?” He laughed in the back of his throat . “You won’t stoop to that?” He could hear the clip in his words, the frustrated, almost angry way he pronounce each syllable. That calm eye of the storm was passing too fast, he could feel the whirlwind of horrible emotion beckoning for him to feel. Not yet, not yet.

Aziraphale looked at him, his false inattention dropped completely. He took a half step closer to Crowley, away from the door. “I don’t look down on you like that, you know I don’t,’ he said softly.

Crowley’s fury rose. “Then what can I do?” He snarled slowly. He stood, still a few feet from Aziraphale, but at least not below him. “Name it, I'll do it. How do you want me?”

Aziraphale’s body moved like he was rolling his eyes, but he didn’t break his gaze away from Crowley. He pursed his lips, all annoyance, all offense.

“Do you like me as a woman?” Crowley asked. “Or do you prefer a man? Something in between?” He stepped towards Aziraphale. He wanted something, a clue, a direction, a  _ kiss.  _

Aziraphale looked sick. Disgusted. Crowley was relieved, any emotion was better than none. Disregard was worse than dislike. He could find a direction to take Aziraphale in as long as he felt something.

"Nothing so human," Aziraphale said furiously. 

Crowley changed tracks, trying to keep himself hurtling in vaguely the right direction. “Do you like it when I save you, or do you like it when I need you? Do you want coy and vapid? Kind? Horrible? What do you want?” Crowley’s voice broke and he stopped, gasping a breath in. It might be time to reign it in, shut up and let this be in the past.

Aziraphale talked before even a moment of silence could settle between them. “None of that, none of that,” he said desperately. Crowley stared at him, his lip curling in disdain at his response. “Listen to me, don’t change, I like you, Crowley, I do,’ Aziraphale said.

It felt hollow to Crowley. “You don’t love me,’ Crowley said mildly, as if the knowledge of that weren’t ruinous to his soul. It was horrible, but it was hardly new. His detachment to this moment began to return, but not well. “You don’t want me.” He stepped towards Aziraphale again. “I can be anything, angel, I will be whatever you want, anything, anything.”

Aziraphale had his hands up, not fending him off, just trying to create a boundary. Crowley ignored it, stepping into his personal space. “It’s not any of that, dear, it really isn’t,” Aziraphale gasped.

Crowley rested a hand softly on Aziraphale’s waist, trailing gently down to his hip as he whispered in his ear. “Then I don’t understand why I can’t be enough.” God, he was so miserable. 

Aziraphale leaned away from his hand. “Stop that, stop touching me,” he said, his voice thick.

Crowley let his hand drop. He’d disobeyed Aziraphale more than enough tonight to last him a century of distrust, and he had more to say yet. He tipped his head to the side, his inches long hair falling haphazardly in front of his eyes. “I love you,” Crowley murmured.

Aziraphale stepped back and stopped, looking at him seriously, his eyes wide again. He shook his head then stepped back again, turning to the door. “Crowley, I will pretend we never had this conversation,” he said.

“Don’t do that to me,” Crowley asked quietly.

Aziraphale paused with his hand on the door, looking at his feet in consideration. After many heavy seconds, he sighed. “Good night,” he said quickly as he flung the door open and fled.

“No,” Crowley gasped. He started for the door but he barely got two steps before it shut loudly, stopping him in his tracks. He stared at the door, the blood in his ears drowning out any sound of Aziraphale’s continued departure.

He remembered in this moment, in a cruel twist of irony, the first thing he’d said to Aziraphale. 

_ Well, _ his memory said with sick glee,  _ that went down like a lead balloon. _

Crowley sank to the ground, sitting where he had stood without thought. An hour passed and he realised he sat next to the table, so he leaned on the table leg and continued to stare desolately at the unmoving door. 

He might have cried, but he didn’t really know.

Finally, just a few hours later, he got tired of his one person pity party, and stood, intending to find a venue with stronger alcohol than this house kept. He snapped his fingers and a warm cloak settled over his shoulders, it was a cold night after all. He opened the door, thinking maudlinly about the happy folk he would have to sit amongst in order to get drunk, then froze.

Aziraphale was sitting on the steps to the house. As the door opened he started, standing and turning in one awkward motion. He looked at Crowley in alarm, with more than a little guilt and embarrassment flitting across his face.

“You’re still here,” Crowley said dumbly.

“I- I am, yes,” Aziraphale admitted. 

"Oh," Crowley said, more dumbly again. 

Crowley was nothing if not determined. Once he had a target he honed in on it, and tonight he had a target. Crowley closed the few steps between them. "I want to kiss you, Aziraphale," he said as he walked, tumbled towards him. 

He stopped before him, not touching him again, not without permission. He didn't need to anyway, Aziraphale's head tipped and craned to watch him. The angel's lips parted as he briefly tried to catch his breath, then stopped breathing altogether as Crowley crowded him. 

His blush, his lips, how his eyes trailed over his face, his neck, to his chest only to snap back into focus and soften again. Crowley knew. "You want to kiss me, I can tell," Crowley croaked.

Aziraphale shook his head. "I don’t," he muttered. He took a step back and hit the entrance column. 

Crowley moved to the side, leaving Aziraphale a clear exit. He leaned on the wall next to Aziraphale and smiled at him. "What will happen if I just do it?" Crowley asked, almost looking forwards to the rejection now, he’d earned it tonight. Hurt me, he thought, I deserve it.

Aziraphale turned towards him, barely an inch, but enough. His eyes raked all over Crowley, almost enough to make Crowley blush at the intensity.

"I shan’t see you again," Aziraphale answered.

Crowley blinked in surprise. That’d do it. A dark chuckle slipped out of his chest and he turned, hitting the walk with his back. "Well, that’s not worth it," he said sickly. 

"No?" Aziraphale gaped at him, surprise and reproach in his eyes. 

Crowley smiled to himself. He was hearing him, even if it wasn't reciprocated, Aziraphale was listening. He'd succeeded. "You’re too precious for me to lose," Crowley whispered. 

Aziraphale grabbed his wrist. Tightly. Crowley went to complain but he was interrupted. 

"Get inside," Aziraphale ordered. 

"What?" Crowley managed. 

Aziraphale pulled him from the wall and flung him unceremoniously towards the door. "Be quiet, go," he insisted. 

"I- "

Aziraphale slammed the door behind them. "If you’re going to force the issue, then very well," he said primly as he straightened his tunic. He nodded at the couch. "Sit down," he said more gently. 

Crowley looked at him warily for a beat, but Aziraphale was crackling and didn't look much like he was in the mood for any bullshit. He moved slowly and sat on the couch. He picked up the bottle of wine along the way for good measure. 

Aziraphale straightened his tunic again, although it was already sitting right. He took a breath and began, his hands out like he’d practiced the words in his head many times over. "What we are doing already is far too risky." He looked at Crowley seriously, then began to pace. "If we get comfortable, if we get sloppy, if we get obvious. I will be reprimanded, I will likely be put away in some corner of heaven and given paperwork for the rest of time-"

"I’d find you," Crowley interrupted. "We'd escape."

Aziraphale spun to face him. "You wouldn’t get the chance, because I will be demoted," he snapped. He prodded himself in the chest furiously. "I will be punished but you, my dear-" he paused his tirade, taking a calming breath. The gentle fondness returned. "You will simply be killed."

Crowley's arguments stuttered and failed. 

Aziraphale’s hands dropped to his side. "There is only one life on the line here and it is not mine, it is far more precious to me than that and, Crowley, I will not risk you like that."

Aziraphale looked at him and sighed, then joined him on the couch. He picked the bottle up out of Crowley's hands and had a swig. 

Crowley's thoughts were spinning. And they were landing badly. 

"They will destroy you, Crowley," Aziraphale continued softly. "Completely and utterly. You will be gone. I shall never see you again." His grip on the bottle tightened. His voice changed timbre, more frustrated, less kind. "And all because you couldn't get a handle on your greed and your lust- "

"It’s not- it’s- it’s- " Crowley interrupted. 

Aziraphale ignored him. "Everything you can give me, Crowley, it’s not worth it. It’s not worth losing what I already have. I treasure it all too much."

"It’s not a sin," Crowley gasped. He heard Aziraphale through his panic. Not worth it. He wasn't worth it. 

"It is a sin."

"It’s not," Crowley said, turning in his seat to face him properly. These tunics weren't made for what Crowley did with his legs and the seam up the side tore loudly in the room. "It's love," Crowley insisted. "Love isn’t sin, it isn’t even virtuous, it’s just good."

Aziraphale shot him a look full of so much complicated emotion that Crowley had no chance of decoding it. Sorrow? Anger? 

Derision. 

"Can I kiss you. Just once, this once," Crowley asked, aware that he was alarmingly close to begging. 

"No," Aziraphale said firmly, and with much less patience than he had before. "I’m going to leave, are you okay?"

"Am I okay?" Crowley repeated weakly, incredulous. 

Aziraphale stood up. "I’ll see you again. I’m sorry."

Crowley thought on that as Aziraphale walked across the room. 

"I forgive you," he said self effacingly as Aziraphale reached the door. 

Aziraphale glanced at him. "Oh," he said, slightly surprised, slightly annoyed. He looked away, but Crowley saw how his eyes shone.

"Please," Crowley ventured. 

"Oh," Aziraphale moaned. He looked at Crowley again and, yes, he had tears in his eyes. Crowley felt a brief flutter of hope, maybe he'd stay, change the topic and talk about something else, but stay. 

Aziraphale swung the door open and left without another word. 

_ Not worth it. _


	2. Assume

Aziraphale had expected Crowley to bring it up. They'd stopped the apocalypse, and Aziraphale had turned to face him, waiting for him to ask again. Kiss me, angel. It's time.

But he hadn't, he'd been distracted mucking around with Shadwell's absurdly over-sized weapon and poking fun at Pepper. 

And, after all, they hadn't dealt with everything. So Aziraphale had taken another breath of patience and stepped in time with his demon.

The park bench, then. They'd touched, Aziraphale had noticed how Crowley flexed his hand after he let go, he could feel it too. He wanted- he had begun to want to ask first, then already. But Crowley had been braver so many times, Aziraphale wouldn't take his bravery from him by asking now when his answer should be known. 

They'd left the park bench. 

The Ritz! Full of moments and opportunities, long looks and heavy pauses. It had been fun and giddy and soft and perfect and, still, Crowley had said nothing. He gazed, and while Aziraphale couldn't sense the demon's love, he could feel it nonetheless. 

Aziraphale left the Ritz unkissed. 

A month of chances passed.

They sat now on separate couches, Aziraphale properly, Crowley flung comically in his preferred armchair. Aziraphale's patience finally wore out.

"I was thinking about what you said to me that night in Turkey," Aziraphale said with a false casual air. He was stressed. He couldn't do this as tactfully as Crowley would have, why hadn't Crowley done this for them? Perhaps Crowley wanted Aziraphale to say it first this time, it was his turn after all. Aziraphale would acquiesce as gracefully as he could. 

Aziraphale glanced over at his friend in the armchair, his splayed limbs resting erratically, holding a wine glass with a disregard of gravity. The demon stiffened.

"What night?" Crowley asked blandly. He drank from his glass, too gracefully to be unconsidered. He wasn't relaxed any longer, the muscles in his arms quivering to hold what was suddenly a forced casualness. He was staring back at Aziraphale warily. 

Aziraphale did not dignify that with a reply, he simply waited for Crowley to take his point. 

Crowley frowned at him, but eventually seceded. "What’s got you thinking about that night?" He asked begrudgingly. 

Aziraphale smiled warmly. "We’ve never discussed it again, do you remember what I said? About how I feel?" He asked softly.

"You made it clear," Crowley said throatily, like he didn't want to hear what he was saying. 

"Oh, that’s a relief," Aziraphale sighed happily. Crowley was on it. He had opened the door enough and surely the demon would take it from here. He prepared himself to be asked. 

"Want to go somewhere for lunch?" Crowley asked lightly. 

Aziraphale paused and studied him for a tick. "You don’t want to discuss this?" He checked. 

Crowley shrugged. "Not particularly," he said with put on distraction. 

Aziraphale was disappointed. He was rather surprised by how disappointed he was. "Oh," he sighed. What had he gotten wrong? Crowley had loved him, and Aziraphale had loved him back. They'd agreed, the only thing that stood between them was Heaven and Hell, the punishment that would be wrought. That threat had passed. What else could be holding them back?

"Whyever not?" Aziraphale finally asked. Crowley threw a brief glare at him, then picked up his sunglasses and slipped them on

"Dear, everything’s changed," Aziraphale said. 

"We’re the same," Crowley said quietly. 

"We are," Aziraphale agreed. Crowley didn't seem to like that. "I’m going to verbalise it regardless, Crowley, just to be sure," Aziraphale said, more warning him then asking for permission. He hoped for permission. 

Crowley rolled his eyes dramatically and curled a leg under himself. "Go on, then, stubborn…" He trailed off. 

Aziraphale smiled smugly. Permission. "I’ll choose not to be offended, dear," he said lightly as he stalled. Crowley didn't react to the jibe. 

Aziraphale sat up a smidge to say his piece, it was important and deserved proper posture. "You said you loved me," he said. He paused for Crowley. 

Crowley glared at him, waiting for him to continue. When the seconds ticked by he finally nodded and admitted. "I did."

Aziraphale nodded back, determined to ignore the warmth flooding him at the easy confirmation. "And as you well know, I love you too-"

Crowley's foot slipped out from under him and hit the coffee table with a crash. A tea cup rattled threateningly in it's saucer and a pen rolled onto the ground.

"What," Crowley said, the word small and tight in the back of his throat. 

Aziraphale silenced the cup and looked at Crowley in alarm. "My dear, are you alright?" He asked. His boot seemed undamaged, but that had been an almighty sound. 

"What did you jusst sssay?" Crowley hissed. He was leaning forward in the chair, his hands clutching the armrest furiously. 

Aziraphale recoiled without meaning to, confused by this response. "That I love you, of course, but you know that-"

"Why would I assume that?" Crowley interrupted. 

Aziraphale glanced at his books, wondering if one of them could maybe help him navigate this better. None of them helped in this moment. "I told you," he sputtered. 

Crowley hadn't moved an inch, but now he did, he looked at Aziraphale with wide eyes behind his slipping glasses and shook his head slowly. 

Aziraphale fidgeted with his pants. "In Turkey, dear, I did," he said quietly. He had, hadn't he? Surely. He felt as though he had. 

Crowley silently shook his head again. 

"I said- I said not to change a thing for what I love is you, as you are," Aziraphale said. 

"You said that we-" Crowley stopped and took a breath. Aziraphale realised he hasn't breathed either and did so too. Crowley shifted forwards, relaxing his grip on the armrest and instead perching on the edge of the seat's cushion, leaning his elbows on his knees to study Aziraphale from over the top of his glasses. "You said that your dislike of me was based on something deep and- and that I- I shouldn't bother changing anything, that I'm not  _ worth- _ " he stopped his weak explanation, staring at Aziraphale with a vulnerability and fear so strong it was horrible. 

Aziraphale shook his head, but that did sound pretty well spot on. "Well, I- I suppose- but one should extrapolate that I- I love you-" he looked at Crowley and was filled with a mournful sorrow, a regret and shame so strong it suffocated him for a moment. "You didn't know?" He asked. 

Crowley's eyes were so, so wide and his pupils so blown they looked nearly black. He slipped off the chair and landed on a knee, propping himself up with the coffee table. "Of course I don't know," he said. Aziraphale reached out to help him balance. To his surprise Crowley accepted the offer and held his hand tightly. "You've never told me," Crowley said wretchedly. 

"I- I- my dear Crowley, may I tell you now?" Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley’s expression changed and Aziraphale couldn't place it, although he'd seen it before. He'd seen it as the first rain fell, when a child in the distance screamed in the flood, through Armageddon, and when the angels had dragged him away. 

Crowley was scared to death. 

Crowley sat back, slipping from his knee to lean against the armchair, away from Aziraphale's touch. "What’re you going to say?" He asked warily. 

Aziraphale let his hands fall, but stayed watching him. "I intend to be frank," he said. Crowley didn't respond, just sat, one elbow on the chair's cushion, the rest of him tangled and irrelevant. 

Aziraphale powered through the silence. Crowley had done this with a far more unwilling audience, he could do it now. "I love you," he said, then blushed. He ducked his head for a moment, then decided that no, he was to make eye contact for this. He looked back at Crowley, whose mouth now hung open in amazement. "I’d like to spend a great deal of time kissing you."

Crowley's mouth moved wordlessly a few times before a choked and garbled, "Why?" 

"Why?" Aziraphale repeated. He slipped off the couch, coming the rest kneeling before Crowley. Crowley didn't scamper, but he moved subtly to ensure they still wouldn't touch. Aziraphale let him. "Well, dear, because-"

"Don’t answer that, are you mad?" Crowley interrupted. He scrambled now, pulling himself up in a way that would break a human arm and sitting in the armchair, all of him out of reach. "I don't want to know that," Crowley said desperately. 

Aziraphale sighed and bowed his head, taking a moment to accept his sorrow for what it was. He stood and sat back on the couch, sitting on the end closer to Crowley. 

They sat quietly for a moment, Crowley breathing hard and watching Aziraphale like he was a dangerous animal, liable to reach out and scratch him without warning. Aziraphale just sat and adjusted his thoughts. Crowley hadn't known, so of course he hadn't turned to him after the apocalypse. He'd had no reason to. Oh, what a collection of missed opportunities lay between them. Centuries of them. 

"Oh dear, Crowley, this is a mess. I thought you knew," Aziraphale said.

"I- " Crowley didn't succeed in getting any further. Aziraphale gave him a moment but he seemed to stop trying. Well, he could hardly begrudge him that now. 

Aziraphale thought about all they'd done in the thousand or so years since Turkey. He'd thought Crowley had  _ known,  _ that that was why the demon had gotten so emboldened, so flirtatious and intimate since then. But no, that was just who Crowley was. How Aziraphale admired him. 

"You've been very bold, my dear," Aziraphale said, breaking the near panicked silence. "Asking me to run away with you." 

Aziraphale looked at Crowley carefully. He was panting but Aziraphale wasn't sure he was actually breathing. 

"Was just-" Crowley tried to say. He shut his eyes and shook his head tightly. When he opened them again he seemed less panicked, but also less inclined to finish his sentence. 

Aziraphale spoke for him. "A brave thing to offer given that you didn't know I wanted to, so desperately."

Crowley withered. He leaned across the armrest, towards Aziraphale. Glasses still on, walls still up, but not running. 

Aziraphale took the hint and kept talking. "I have never wanted anything so much as I want you, my dear Crowley." 

Crowley didn't respond, but he also didn't refuse him. Aziraphale took that last step, it really was his fault that Crowley couldn't, so it seemed the thing to do. 

"Will you take me?" Aziraphale asked him. His voice croaked a little but he didn't feel much inclined to clear it. "Have me?"

Every lamp and light in the bookshop slowly turned on, reflecting perfectly in Crowley's almost completely yellow eyes. 

Crowley's mouth moved a few times in a false start to a sentence. "I- I can’t- " he croaked. 

Aziraphale sat up, straightening his back formally. "Of course not," he said briskly, determined to ignore the deep pain he felt. 

"No- " Crowley gasped, but Aziraphale barely heard it. 

"I'm a fool, a complete idiot," Aziraphale said sadly. Missed opportunities. Maybe he could work and build it back up, make Crowley fall in love with him aga-

"No," Crowley snapped, interrupting his spiraling thoughts. "I love you, I do, I do, I swear," he said hurriedly. 

Aziraphale looked back at him. He was leaning over the armrests on both his chair and Aziraphale _ 's _ couch. He was quite close now, desperately and keenly looking at Aziraphale and Aziraphale quickly decided that he liked the touch of sincerity in Crowley’s eye right now. 

Aziraphale took a breath. "I'm relieved to hear it," he said softly. 

"You love me?" Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale nodded. "I love you so very much, Crowley."

Crowley's chest calmed and he seemed to remember to actually breathe again, rather than just go through the motions. Aziraphale reached out slowly and placed a careful hand on Crowley's, running his thumb against his wrist bone. 

"Perhaps we should talk about this again down the road?" Aziraphale suggested after a few too many seconds passed in silence. 

Crowley pulled his hand out from under Aziraphale's and snatched his glasses off, dropping them without thought. He began to rise, kneeling in his chair so that he could lean closer to Aziraphale. 

"Or you could just kiss me now?" He said wobbily. His words were light, but there was no smile, no happiness in his eyes to back it up for Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale pursed his lips, seriously considering the offer. They loved each other. They wanted to kiss each other. The rest felt like it could be more easily addressed later, once they were comfortable. "Well," he agreed with a smirk. 

He leaned in, Crowley met him halfway. That was perfect. What was less perfect was all that followed. 

Aziraphale had kissed people before, of course he had. There had been a few decades where friendly greetings took the form of a mouth kiss. More recently than that he'd learnt a dance that required kissing the partner and one or two men had willfully taken it a bit far. Aziraphale hadn't complained, it was simply living. 

The point being, Aziraphale knew how to kiss and how to be kissed. Right now he was kissing, but he wasn't being kissed.

His lips pressed gently to Crowley's, not demanding a thing from him, but just kissing him. Crowley did not respond, his lips were tight and unmoving, his mouth closed. Aziraphale kept it up for a full ten seconds, sometimes Crowley needed a moment to catch up, but after some time it began to simply feel ridiculous. 

Aziraphale leaned away. "Crowley- " he started to say.

"No," Crowley snapped, his eyes still closed. He leaned in, chasing Aziraphale. "No, I'm sorry, let me- "

Aziraphale put his hand on Crowley's shoulder, stopping his forward momentum. "It's okay, dear. I have lied to you and refused you for millennia. I have lied as I refused you. Hardly the actions of someone deserving of your trust."

Crowley's eyes were open now and he stared at Aziraphale sadly. 

"I- " Crowley choked, shaking his head. 

Aziraphale leaned back in, close to him. "I'll earn you, I'll work for it," he promised. 

Crowley's arms wrapped around Aziraphale's shoulders, clasping the back of his neck. Crowley moved, forgetting his bones and half leapt, half slithered over the armrests towards Aziraphale. "No, no, just kiss me, make me get used to it," he said. 

Aziraphale tried to pull himself out of the way, but Crowley held on and came with him. They ended up with Aziraphale holding the edge of the couch’s cushions so that he wouldn't tip as Crowley effectively straddled him, holding on close. 

"Crowley-" Aziraphale admonished, trying to catch his hands to pull him off. 

Crowley wouldn't budge. "Force me to get used to it and I will," he insisted. 

Aziraphale successfully wrapped his hands around Crowley's forearms and pushed him back. Crowley still sat in his lap, but was caught, arms held between them as Aziraphale closed his eyes and forced his disappointment to turn into patience. 

"I will not do that," Aziraphale said tensely, with some anger. He held Crowley's arms unflinchingly, ignoring the demons efforts to push him off. He'd always been stronger than Crowley, but it felt odd to prove it. “Take your time. We're in no rush."

Crowley stilled. Aziraphale put his hands between them and left them there unrestrained, but held. 

"But I want it," Crowley said pitifully, looking down at their joined hands. 

"As do I, my love."

Crowley heaved a sigh at that and closed his eyes. Aziraphale gently manhandled him off, arranging him as comfortably as he could next to him. 

"I'll bring this up again in a couple of months, would that be okay?" Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley had his head in his hands and seemed to every likelihood like he would ignore Aziraphale, but he didn't, instead he nodded slowly. 

Aziraphale let the silence sit a little longer, then swallowed and deftly changed the subject. 

"What were you saying about lunch?" He asked. 

Crowley looked at him sadly, but accepted the switch and they spent a quiet and distant lunch together, followed unfortunately by a quiet and distant week as Crowley stopped coming by the shop. 


	3. Absurd

Crowley spun on his heel and addressed the large, bushy fern that stood proudly a foot out from the wall. "Aziraphale," he said awkwardly. He sighed. The fern wasn't much like Aziraphale. He soldiered on. "Aziraphale, this has been absurd, I have been absurd." 

He shut his eyes and thought about Aziraphale's face, his polite expression, the confused twinkle that would doubtlessly sit in his eyes. Crowley gesticulated hopefully, trying to encourage his mind to say things well. "You say you- you say you love me and I must believe that…" He trailed off, his thoughts running dry. The fern seemed unimpressed. 

"So I do," he said vaguely, running a hand through his hair. "Hoo-ee."

What would Aziraphale have to say? Probably a fair bit, he always seemed ready to talk these days. Not that they'd seen much of each other, Crowley's avoidance techniques were practiced and unparalleled. 

"Stop interrupting me, let me say my bit," Crowley chided the false Aziraphale. 

The fern shivered apologetically and Crowley gave up on it. He snarled and turned, walking aimlessly around the apartment.

"And he'll agree to be quiet, of course.  _ Yes, Crowley _ ," Crowley said loudly, affecting a slightly posher tone in his voice when he mocked Aziraphale. "Then I can say, um, I thought you didn't love me," Crowley began. "Didn’t want me.” He caught sight of himself in the mirror and turned away quickly. He found the statue of the angel and demon in a violent embrace and began walking towards that, rambling quietly. "Because, you know, I'm a demon and you're just not into that kind of consorting, and that, well, not that so much, I guess, more that my actual self was reprehensible as opposed to how I look and talk and demonise so it would all make no difference." His voice left him as he stood before the statue, looking at it in consideration. “Just not that into me,” he whispered. He sighed greatly.

"I probably shouldn't say reprehensible," Crowley agreed out loud with his musings. He continued down the corridor towards his lush bathroom. The bravado returned to his voice. "Cause then he's gonna interrupt to say something."

"What would he say?" Crowley wondered. Aziraphale, unfortunately, surprised him a lot and this theoretical conversation was harder to come up with than he'd hoped. He opened a cupboard door that appeared in the wall as he reached for it and pulled out a mop, turning it head up so the mess of white rope stood at eye level. 

" _ Crowley _ ," Crowley said in an uncannily perfect imitation of Aziraphale. " _ Dear boy _ ," he added, spinning the mop around him in a sarcastic dance. " _ I've never seen you as disgusting, of course, that's all a load of old tosh that you've made up. Pip pip _ ."

Crowley sighed heavily and leaned the mop tenderly against the wall. It was doing a better job than the fern had. 

"So I can point out that that's been something of his fallback argument for a while!" Crowley said, indicating himself. He threw his arm towards the mop, letting Aziraphale take his turn. "And we'll just talk about the threat of death and all."

Crowley stopped. 

"What point am I trying to make?" He asked himself. His arm dropped to his side. 

He thought for a moment. He was trying to accept Aziraphale's word. Or was he trying to help Aziraphale understand what was in the way? 

"I've spent too long trying not to kiss you, being able to is making me think I'm being tricked. You seem to have made this decision in a heartbeat, you've changed your mind.” He paused. “Are you sure?" Crowley whispered, letting the mop sit in the corner of his eye, just reminding him of the angel. 

"If he says no, I bounce," Crowley said heavily to himself. "So, assume he says yes, he's sure."

He faced the mop. "Are you going to change your mind again?" 

His throat began to tighten. 

"And then maybe I should leave?" He wondered. He could feel emotion threatening, his body more upset than he wanted to admit. "I should leave then, he's gotta think about it."

Crowley left the room, taking a brief, calming stroll through the plant room. He threw an apologetic glance at the fern, then hisses at an orchid to make up for it. 

He returned to the throne room and grabbed the mop.

"So I walk in, I say: Hi Aziraphale, sit down and shut up," he said quickly as he placed the mop irreverently in his chair. It tipped to the side. 

"He says  _ How rude _ !" Crowley imitated perfectly. 

Crowley faced the mop bravely. "I say, I’m into you, as you well know."

"And then he probably interrupts to say he knows and he likes me too and he’s confused about why I won’t kiss him- which is fair enough," Crowley admitted. 

"So I say…" he stalled, not sure how to respond to the theoretical but still challenging question. "What?" He asked himself in frustration. "It's come about too fast, angel," he tried. Not bad. Bit ironic, but that could be good. "Let me try and woo you, go at my pace." Worth a shot. "I just need to know that you’ll keep me." No, too vulnerable. 

Crowley sighed again and stared morosely at the mop. "Well that was all very fucking eloquent. Let’s see if that works, fuck me," he complained as he miracled his jacket to his shoulders and left before the beat of bravery left him. 

  
  
  
  
  


\----------

  
  
  


"Crowley," Aziraphale said warmly, his surprise evident in his expression but his voice taken entirely by fondness. 

"Hi," Crowley said as he shouldered past the angel into the shop. 

"Are you okay, dear?" Aziraphale asked as he closed the door and flipped the sign to closed. "I'm so sorry-"

"Sit down with me," Crowley interrupted, not letting him have a chance at apologising. "Don’t say anything, please, just for a minute," he said tensely. He walked directly to the couches and stood uncomfortably amongst them. 

Aziraphale's mouth opened to speak, but he seemed to think better of it and instead smoothed his vest and nodded, joining Crowley among the couches. Crowley didn't move to sit, but Aziraphale perched intently on the edge of his preferred couch. 

"So," Crowley began, then flooded with regret, then filled with confidence, then resignation. "I know I’ve been freaking out, and that’s probably got you a bit, you know, confuddled and pssht," he said poorly. He looked at Aziraphale for a response but he was quietly and attentively looking at Crowley with a sad hope. 

"Okay, well," Crowley stammered. "I- I didn’t get what you were apparently trying to say back in not Turkey yet, about the whole- your feelings- that thing.” He choked on a word for a moment, but it passed. “So I’ve spent a few centuries thinking…" he flapped an arm vaguely. He looked around briefly for a mop to address, but none were present. "Otherwise," he completed.

Aziraphale's eyebrows pinched but he didn't respond. Crowley stopped looking at him at all and stared wildly off into the shelves. 

"That you, you know, were just intrinsically not interested in me, as a- in that way. Barely as a friend, really, so this last week has been, hoo boy, that was a lot to drop on ol' Crowley," Crowley said sarcastically. 

Still nothing from Aziraphale. What did he have to do? "I thought the friend part had changed recently, hopefu- maybe," he said mildly, uncomfortably. "But not the rest, because, you know, evil. Irredeemable sorta reprehensible- why aren’t you interrupting?" Crowley stressed. 

Aziraphale leaned away from him, taken aback. "You asked me not to speak," he pointed out. 

"I didn’t think you’d obey, when have you ever listened to me?" Crowley said in exasperation. 

"Oh," Aziraphale said simply. 'Well then, I do have some thoughts."

That was more like it. "Shut up a minute," Crowley said. Aziraphale smiled at him and nodded again. "I just don’t want you thinking I’ve moved on, because I’m still hung up, as they say, on you. I'm still yours, I just- I don't know."

"Well, that makes sense," Aziraphale agreed. 

Crowley stopped his shifting. "It does?"   
  
"Yes," Aziraphale said simply.

Well, Crowley had no idea what was going on but as long as Aziraphale understood. Good, job done. "Okay, I”ll go," Crowley said, turning away. His momentum was stopped harshly by Aziraphale's hand on his wrist. 

Aziraphale had stood and moved quickly, quietly to him to catch him. "What?" Aziraphale snapped, pulling him back. "No," he said quietly. He looked at Crowley entreatingly, then his gaze flitted down to his wrist and he let go with a start. 

Crowley touched his wrist where Aziraphale had held him, trying to return it to normal. "You should think about this for a bit, see if you really like me," Crowley suggested softly. 

Aziraphale was studying his hands, his fingers intertwining. He had blushed slightly but it was starting to fade. "I would like you to stay, Crowley," be whispered. "My opinion on this all is not going to change, but I don't need- I don't need anything, dear boy. May I suggest something you seem to have not thought of?" Aziraphale said gently into the silence Crowley left. 

"I’ve thought of the forced exposure thing," Crowley said, raising a hand to stop him. "But I really think if we make out- or- or- or whatever- that- that I’ll just freeze up again, go all zzt- so I don’t think that’s worth it." He paused. "For now."

Aziraphale frowned. "My dear, I would never force myself on you like that."

"It’s not forcing," Crowley disagreed. 

Aziraphale's frown became more condescending. "It is unpleasantly close."

Crowley nodded. Then he actually agreed so he nodded again. "I’m going to leave," he muttered, then turned to do so.

"Crowley," Aziraphale entreated. Crowley faced him and was startled by how upset he looked. He was leaning towards him, teetering on the edge of having to take another step or overbalance. His eyes were wet, his lip wobbling. "I’m an angel, I love everything," he said quickly.

Well that was a lot like a knife to the heart. Crowley shrugged off the sharp pain of rejection best he could, which was very well in fact. Practice, and all. "I know- " he said, but was interrupted by Aziraphale's building rant. 

"So I did not notice for some time that my feelings for you were greater than that, and I apologise for my slow uptake."

Crowley shook his head. "You’re confused, I’m not worth- I meant- I don’t-"

"I loved you on the Arc," Aziraphale interrupted. He took that step, standing directly before Crowley but not touching him. He wrung his hands in front of him and looked at Crowley sadly through his burgeoning tears. His voice was deadly serious, brooking no falseness, leaving no room for miscommunications or unspoken truths. "Your fury frightened and challenged me, but I respected it. I felt it too, and I admired your bravery in showing it, in embracing it. The Flood was wrong, Crowley, and I love you that you knew it."

Crowley stood, glued in place by some emotion he couldn't identify but it was tender and totally overwhelming.

"I loved you in Nazareth," Aziraphale continued, "When you changed your name and amazed me with your generosity to Her son, and again blasphemed so many time I couldn't think through my shock, I loved that."

"Angel-" Crowley said with great difficulty. 

"In Africa, when you saved me from that truly horrible dinner I was about to eat. Remember that? I was speechless, I couldn't even thank you, I was so pleased to see you because I loved you then, Crowley, I did."

Crowley swayed. Aziraphale's hands fluttered towards him, but didn't reach out. Crowley looked at his hands and decided to do that for him. 

Crowley reached forwards and held Aziraphale's upper arm tightly. Aziraphale's eyes closed briefly at the contact, then his hand raised and he held Crowley's elbow gently, helping him stand. 

"Dear, I have so many examples, do you want to hear them all?" Aziraphale offered quietly. 

Crowley couldn't take that, he would pass out. "No," he lied. 

Aziraphale's fingers tightened on his elbow. "I think maybe you should." Aziraphale said softly. "In the blitz, oh Crowley I nearly gave it up and kissed you then, I've never- you- you saved my books and I believe I stood there for eternity as my adoration washed over me and I loved you, I love you, I did, I do- " Aziraphale's voice broke. Crowley stepped in, not into an embrace of any kind, but standing so close that if they both breathed in their chests risked brushing. 

Crowley chuckled. He felt like he wasn't made of atoms any more, or if he were they were vibrating out of place. "Do I have to do this too?" He said weakly. The joke in his words was belied by the shake in his voice and the quiet, tender love in his thoughts. "Say when I've loved you all this time? 'Cause the sword thing was really funny- "

"Crowley, no, don't you understand? You don't need to say a thing!" Aziraphale exclaimed. "I don't mind, I don't care if we never kiss, just don't make me spend another evening alone," he finished with a whine. 

Crowley grinned and ran his hand fondly down Aziraphale's arm. Aziraphale mirrored him, dropping his hand so their knuckles rested brushing against each other. "You making a move on me, angel?" Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale's eyes widened and his hand snapped back. "No, oh no, that's not what I -" he froze and studied Crowley's wide grin. "You're joking," he identified. 

"Yeah," Crowley said, swaying with happiness. 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "It's so boring here without you," he complained. 

"Right," Crowley agreed. 

"It  _ is _ ," Aziraphale insisted, although his eyes twinkled mischievously. 

Crowley’s grin widened and he sauntered past him, heading for the couch they often shared. "Go on then, pick a bottle," he instructed as he dirtied Aziraphale's nice coffee table with his boots. 

"You'll stay?" Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley nodded. "Of course."

"Well," Aziraphale said softly. He miracled the dirt off the table, and Crowley's boots. "That's good." 


	4. Among

Aziraphale walked down the street holding his pastries carefully as he actively calculated the pros and cons of a decision he had to make. Was it invasive or sweet? Overbearing or welcome? He reached the intersection that demanded his choice before he'd made it. 

He looked to the left. He could see Crowley's apartment from here, it was absurd to not visit. He took a step towards Crowley, then faltered. He'd never just dropped by before, it was extremely presumptuous to imagine he was welcome. He stepped back. But he was here. He stepped forward again. 

It occurred to him he must seem quite odd to any onlookers. He sighed and looked at the box in his hands. He should visit. 

He started off confidently, and while he slowed and hesitated along his way, he did not stop and eventually found himself at Crowley's door. It had been a month since they'd tried (and failed) to kiss, but merely two days since they'd seen each other last. Things had been calmer, there were silences between them now that were taken by adoration, not awkwardness. And were he less hyper aware of it all, Aziraphale would have lost count of how many times he’d told Crowley he’d loved him this last month, but he wasn’t so he knew it sat at thirteen instances. Crowley hadn’t repeated it back since the first time they’d talked, but his panic at hearing it lessened every time. 

Aziraphale knocked. It took a minute but he was patient and only considered dashing once before the door opened.

"Wha- oh," Crowley mumbled. He was wearing pants and a long sleeved button up, both black, both exquisite. His hair was mussed every which way and his eyes still taken with sleep, although now that he'd recognised his guest they were open in surprise. 

Aziraphale felt himself warm. 

"Hello," Aziraphale said apologetically. "Um, I apologise if this is an intrusion but I was in the area to pick up some pastries and I thought I'd swing by just to say hello."

Crowley frowned, studying him curiously. "Right," he agreed. 

Aziraphale realised he'd said he was here to say hello, so he said it. "Hello."

Crowley nodded. "You said that," he pointed out gently. 

Aziraphale warmed more. "So I did. It's not a bad moment, is it?"

"No," Crowley said vaguely, then he seemed to catch up and repeated himself more energetically. "No! Come in, come in, yeah," he invited as he opened the door properly. 

"Oh, thank you, dear."

Crowley closed the door and faced him. "Right," he said like it wasn't yet. 

Aziraphale walked through the entrance slowly, giving Crowley another moment to himself. His self restraint wore out quickly and he faced Crowley with a question on his lips. 

"If I may," Aziraphale broached. 

"Yeah?"

"What are you wearing?"

"Ah-" Crowley looked down at himself. "Ohh," he said. "Pth." He looked back at Aziraphale. "Pajamas."

"I see," Aziraphale said. So Crowley had been asleep. Blast, that was unlucky timing, but knowing the demon it was unlikely to find him otherwise. "You didn't last time I was here," he said. Crowley hadn't, he'd lain down on the hastily miracled couch next to Aziraphale fully clothed to sleep off the exhaustion of holding a car together and stopping time. 

"Nah, no, you were-" Crowley tried. Then he tried again. "There was a lot on my mind. Forgot."

"They're very nice," Aziraphale said. 

Crowley looked down at himself again, then clicked his fingers and the silk shifted and turned into his usual attire. Aziraphale schooled his face before Crowley could see his disappointment. 

Crowley scratched the back of his neck self consciously, then felt his hair and clicked his fingers again. Gone was the bed hair, returned to his usual impeccable coif. Aziraphale did less well hiding his disappointment at that. 

"What have you been up to today?" Aziraphale asked, keen to change the subject after a moment of silence. 

"I was-" Crowley said non committedly. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Actually, I was looking for a new place," he said, nodding at Aziraphale to follow as he led them both into his office. 

"Brutalism not doing it for you any more?" Aziraphale asked mildly. 

"Ah, I never much liked these walls, but it seemed the thing," Crowley said. They rounded the corner to his desk and Aziraphale reminded himself not to comment on the ornate and rather disgusting throne. 

"Oh, well," Aziraphale said, scrambling to say something that wasn't just an insult thrown at Crowley's current decor. He put his box of pastries on Crowley's desk. "What do you like?"

Crowley shrugged. "I dunno."

Aziraphale nodded. "If you're looking for a new place perhaps now is the time to think on it."

Crowley looked out his window. "I s'pose," he agreed. Aziraphale followed his gaze and saw the top deck of a London bus as it passed. "I liked living up high," Crowley mused out loud. "Have a view and all. Try and get beyond this modern smog they all keep churning out."

Aziraphale couldn't remember a time where Crowley had lived more than a few stories up, certainly not high enough to avoid smog. "That wasn't in London, when was that?"

Crowley pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Tower of Babel's the highest I've been, I guess."

"You lived in that? Oh dear, just looking at that thing gave me vertigo."

Crowley raised a sarcastic eyebrow at him. "You don't like heights?" The source of Crowley’s amusement went over Aziraphale’s head. 

"No, no, nothing like that," Aziraphale said, although honestly he preferred to be on the ground. "It was just very tall, wasn't it?"

"That was rather the problem in the end."

"Yes," Aziraphale agreed. "You know-" he faltered, he wasn't sure if the timing was right for this suggestion. He'd prefer to wait a year, but Crowley often settled for a decade or so and he didn't want to wait that long. 

"Hm?" Crowley asked his silence. 

Well, the worst he could do is refuse, Aziraphale supposed. "Of course, there's no assumption, dear, but there are a few tall buildings in Soho…" he trailed off hopefully. "That you could look into, if you wanted," he added as Crowley didn't respond. 

"In Soho?" Crowley asked with no helpful inflection. 

"Just a thought," Aziraphale backtracked. 

Crowley paused again, and his hands returned to his pockets. "You wouldn't mind?" 

"I have no claim to the suburb at large, of course," Aziraphale said. Crowley tipped his head like he disagreed, and Aziraphale could see his point. "But no, I wouldn't mind. I would welcome it. But only- only if you want- "

"Alright," Crowley interrupted. 

"Alright?" Aziraphale repeated. 

Crowley nodded. "Soho sounds good."

Aziraphale's cheeks twinged in complaint at how large his smile grew. Crowley watched him grin and looked unbearably fond. 

"Say it again?" Crowley whispered. 

Aziraphale's smile settled on his face comfortably. This was something Crowley had begun to ask of him lately, and he adored it. It startled him, sometimes, the moments when Crowley would ask, but on reflection it warmed him to realise what had made Crowley think of it. Once it had been Aziraphale spilling some champagne as he’d poured a glass, another time when he’d asked Crowley if he would miracle more bread to feed the ducks with. A few days ago Crowley had littered and once Aziraphale had finished telling him off, he’d asked again. 

  
Aziraphale wasn’t completely sure that that last one hadn’t been Crowley trying to dodge ramifications. Regardless, he was always happy to say it.

"I love you," Aziraphale said. 

Crowley moved silently and smoothly to his side, then, with barely a pause to indicate his desire, he leaned in and kissed him. 

Aziraphale kissed him back immediately, then filled with self admonishment and a mantra of restraint. Crowley kissed him, hard and passionate and Aziraphale melted and drowned and floated in it, he revelled in it, and he held back. He let Crowley lead and did nothing but match him. 

Oh but Crowley was good at this. His lips were confident and soft and sent shivers through Aziraphale’s frame. His tongue flashed out, barely touching Aziraphale’s lip, but different enough a texture that Aziraphale knew for sure. They escalated away from a gentle peck with unbecoming speed.

Crowley pulled back for a breath and a self effacing chuckle. Aziraphale gasped for air in the moment, let the sharp cold breath ground him, he begged himself, let him treat his love with the respect he needs and deserves. Keep it together. 

Crowley's fingers traced his cheek, touching his earlobe gently, his thumb hinting at touching the corner of his mouth. Aziraphale closed his eyes and let out a shuddering exhale. 

Crowley kissed him again and Aziraphale caught the demon's hips, his fingers tangling in denim belt loops, feeling the snakeskin belt fondly, forcing himself to not pull Crowley into him, just hold him, hold him. 

"Don't gotta hold back," Crowley muttered into his mouth. 

Aziraphale almost laughed. If Crowley knew what he wanted, how utterly desperate he was for more, he wouldn't invite it. There was nothing angelic in his thoughts. 

Aziraphale kissed him, but he continued to hold back. He would keep to Crowley's pace, whatever that turned out to be. 

Crowley moved, though. He hurtled past Aziraphale's imagined boundaries. Like a floodgate, once opened a crack the pressure and the build up would rush the rest through without a doubt. Aziraphale was glad, but he was more than a little overwhelmed at Crowley's insistent kiss. 

Crowley's hands found their way into his hair and held him close. As Aziraphale continued to simply kiss him back, Crowley escalated. He pulled Aziraphale towards him, and moved himself towards Aziraphale. They stood, Aziraphale hastily pressed against the edge of the desk, Crowley bent to mold against his body as close he could do every bit. All hopes of clear thought were pulled from Aziraphale as Crowley's kiss showed no signs of self doubt or backing off. Aziraphale could feel every bit of Crowley’s body as he pressed unashamedly into him.

Crowley pulled away for a second, staring into his eyes warmly. Aziraphale smiled back and slipped his hand politely to the small of his back, just to rest there gently. Crowley's smile grew and he tipped his head in, leaving a kiss on the edge if Aziraphale's mouth, then began to quickly leave small kisses along the path to his ear - at which point Aziraphale gave up on propriety and gasped - and down his jaw. 

"Sorry I made you wait," Crowley muttered into his neck. 

"No, you didn't- " Aziraphale said wretchedly, trying to focus, trying to speak. "I- " Crowley just kept kissing him, how was he meant to make a point in these conditions? "I'm sorry, I made us wait, not you- " He could feel Crowley's sharp teeth against his neck and that was far too much. "Perfect- I'm so sorry," he managed. 

Crowley laughed. 

He held Aziraphale’s face in his hands and positioned himself so that their eyes met. And he laughed. Aziraphale quickly found himself laughing too. Crowley looked simply delighted.

The laughter passed and they spent another minute staring at each other. 

“You’re crying, dear heart,” Aziraphale pointed out gently.

Crowley touched his face, his finger lingering on his tears. His smile didn’t wane. “S’good,” he muttered.

“Is it?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley nodded. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. 

Aziraphale believed him, he looked happy. But perhaps a moment to gather themselves would do them both a favour.

“Would you like a pastry?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley frowned at the non sequitur. “Hm?”

Aziraphale nodded vaguely at the box he’d brought. “A pastry?”

Crowley glanced at the box for a long moment, his mouth tensing as he considered it. After some time stopping himself from speaking, he responded with a laugh in his voice. “No,” he refused politely.

“Well, I would,” Aziraphale said. When Crowley didn’t react and stayed leaning against him, he continued, “So if you would allow me.”

Crowley laughed quietly, breathlessly, and stepped back, his eyes staying firmly trained on Aziraphale. Aziraphale slipped past and opened the box deftly. Behind him he could hear Crowley slowly moving towards the desk. 

There was a quiet bump and Aziraphale turned to see Crowley catching himself from falling, his hand on the desk. Aziraphale watched in concern for a moment, but Crowley stood without injury. Just a stumble. Aziraphale smiled to himself, he would leave that be, then. 

Crowley sat fluidly on the desk, returning his gaze to Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale threw him a quick smile, then turned his back and began picking out a pastry. 

Barely twenty seconds passed, Aziraphale had only taken one bite from the almond croissant, when Crowley interrupted. 

“You gonna come back and keep kissing me any time soon?” Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale faced him and took another lazy bite. “I’m just giving you a moment,” he said once he’d swallowed.

“Ah,” Crowley said without any new realisation. “I don’t need one.” He leaned back on his arms, glancing at the space between his legs with invitation.

“No?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shook his head, his lips pursed.

“You’re certain?” 

Crowley nodded slowly, his eyes yellow, his gaze piercing. 

“Oh good, this pastry has nothing on you,” Aziraphale said busily as he put the pastry down. If he straightened his vest and smiled blandly enough, Crowley might not note the flirt so much. He straightened his vest and smiled blandly.

Crowley smiled blandly back at him, but the sarcasm in his eyes and blush on his cheeks proved he’d picked up on it. “I don’t believe that for a second, angel,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale grinned and stepped up to him, fitting with room to spare between his legs. The room quickly disappeared as Crowley wrapped his legs around him, pulling him in.

“I love you,” Crowley said first.

“I love you,” Aziraphale responded. 


End file.
